


Service (Part 2)

by argyle4eva



Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [16]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smut, They actually do get a room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: Following the fine dining experience inPart 1, our heroes decide it's time to Get A Room.Written for Mielpetit/mielpetite'sIneffable Valentines prompt list, Day 9 - Kiss/He could do really weird things with his tongue.I would normally have posted this as 2 chapters of the same work, but this format makes it a little easier to track the challenge days.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535606
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	Service (Part 2)

Aziraphale didn’t have long to sit in the waiting room at the _nantaimori_ restaurant. In much less time than before, Crowley, freshly showered and re-clothed, strode out of the preparation area and took Aziraphale’s elbow without a beat, tugging Aziraphale to his feet.

“C’mon, angel.” If he didn’t know Crowley so well, Aziraphale might have thought he was angry, but familiarity told him Crowley was merely on edge, and containing it as best as possible.

Crowley kept his hold Aziraphale’s elbow, steering him out the door. Aziraphale caught a whiff of perfume: green tea and cherry blossoms. The initial pre-sushi shower would have used unscented soap, to avoid spoiling any flavors, but there must have been scented soap for the after-wash. He wondered if this was the default, or if Crowley had chosen it. It did complement his natural scent well.

Aziraphale realized, as he was being towed to the Bentley, that he was a bit scattered and lightheaded; sensory information (Crowley’s scent, his touch) was far sharper than usual, and more distracting.

He’d never had to actively suppress an Effort before, at least not to such a degree, and it wasn’t going away as it usually did. Instead, it was turning into something he was having to fight to control.

Crowley seemed to be in the same boat, with twitchy, jerking movements. He all but shoved Aziraphale into the car, though carefully, before getting in the driver’s side and closing the door with more force than usual. He sat for a moment, both hands braced on the steering wheel, breathing in and out.

“I’m not going to make it home,” he told Aziraphale, flatly. No drama, just facts. “We need to get a room somewhere.”

“I think that would be good,” Aziraphale told him, surprised at how breathy his own voice sounded.

“I know a place . . .” Crowley didn’t even finish the sentence, just started the car and drove with even more than his usual recklessness.

Azirphale knew for certain he was compromised, because the car ride didn’t terrorize him when it should have. It seemed distant and unimportant. _Oh, dear._

Checking in at the front desk of the hotel felt equally disjointed and distant; it was a bit like being drunk, but without the pleasantness. Fortunately, Crowley seemed able to hold together better, and managed all the arrangements. Then he had hold of Aziraphale’s elbow again, pulling him to their room.

“Are you all right?” Crowley gritted out, fumbling with the key. “You’re being awfully quiet.” the door opened, and Crowley pulled Aziraphale inside.

“I’m . . . a bit off” Aziraphale told him. “Holding in the, er, Effort is taking its toll on me.”

Crowley shoved the door closed behind them and shot the deadbolt and chain. “So stop holding back”

“If I do, I’m not sure what will happen.” He managed a shaky laugh. “I think my knees might give out.”

“Let ‘em.” Crowley was right there - all of a sudden, it seemed - in Aziraphale’s space, gripping his upper arms. “I’ll catch you.”

“I - “ Aziraphale gave in and let loose everything he’d been keeping suppressed.

His knees did give out, but Crowley, held him up and wrestled Aziraphale’s semi-limp weight over to the bed.

Once dropped on the bed, Aziraphale found the strength to pull Crowley down on top of him; it was as much a reflex as a conscious choice.

Crowley hissed. Not a threat, just more tension escaping. He straddled Aziraphale’s thigh, and ground down. Aziraphale felt heat, though no hardness, which told him what configuration Crowley was currently using. Crowley would have switched back at the restaurant during cleanup, to avoid complications with the staff who would unavoidably see him naked, so this was clearly a message on about finishing what they’d started.

Crowley leaned in at exactly the same time Aziraphale arched up towards him; they managed to avoid a collision, and instead sank into a deep and passionate kiss.

When they parted Aziraphale’s head flopped back onto the mattress, and he gasped, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Crowley growled, and licked along Aziraphale’s jaw.

“I was too worried about being improper. I should have had you stop time at the restaurant so we could . . . I forgot, it’s different with you. It’s not something we can just _pause_.”

Crowley huffed a rough laugh against Aziraphale’s neck. “Evidently.”

“I didn’t intend to . . .”

“Me, either,” Crowley admitted, kissing up along the side of Aziraphale’s face, while his one hand started to tug at his clothing. “I thought you’d have sushi, I’d have a nice close-up view, and that’d be it. But the look on your _face_ when you walked in – bloody near got me off by itself.”

Aziraphale nuzzled Crowley’s neck, with the gentlest drag of teeth the way Crowley liked it. “You were so lovely . . . but you seemed normal, you were making jokes.”

“ _Fuck_ , angel, that was panic. Pure, unadulterated panic.”

“I never would have known.” _Known_ came out as a breathy squeak, since Crowley chose that moment to magic away their clothes. By reflex, Aziraphale gasped, “Where?”

“Closet.”

“Ah.” that was partly acknowledgement, and partly the result of Crowley centering up and straddling Aziraphale’s hips. Aziraphale’s hands went to Crowley’s waist automatically.

There was no question about mutual readiness. Crowley simply did a slide up the underside of Aziraphale’s erection, caught the tip, and then slid back down, taking him in a single motion.

The warm gratification was nearly too much for Aziraphale, who normally prided himself on his careful control. He certainly couldn’t stop from tightening his grip on Crowley’s waist and thrusting up with abandon. Crowley rode with equal enthusiasm, flexible enough to lean down and run his amazing tongue around Aziraphale’s tight nipples as they moved.

Sooner than he would have liked, Aziraphale was overtaken with one of the least controlled orgasms of his life.

“That was fast,” Crowley told him, face a few inches away, and grinning widely, teeth perhaps a bit sharper than usual.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale managed a smile in return, and reached up to brush a bit of hair away from Crowley’s forehead. “I think I can be excused.”

“So long as you’re not stopping.” Crowley’s hips were still undulating gently, using Aziraphale to rub the hard-to-reach internal good spots.

“Absolutely not.” Fortunately, the words _refractory period_ were meaningless for both of them.

Aziraphale began to match Crowley’s movements, one hand sliding down from Crowley’s hips to provide a bit of useful external stimulation. It didn't take long, which was hardly surprising under the circumstances.

Crowley dropped to his elbows and kissed Aziraphale, pinning him with the warm length of his body. Crowley’s mouth slid along Aziraphale’s jaw, and then stopped to suck at the sensitive earlobe. The huff of his breath was loud, hot and intimate. “I want to keep going,” he said, low and hungry. “We always stop, but this time . . . I want everything.”

The words and tone made Aziraphale feel wonderfully quivery – at least, he’d have been quivery if he hadn’t been pressed so solidly against the mattress. He couldn’t move, even to quiver. He could, and did, though, side his fingertips along Crowley’s back and sides, feathery touches that made Crowley quiver instead. “Oh, love . . .”

Crowley wasn’t done though. “I want to have you in every way, one after the other, and every time it’ll be exactly what you need, over and over.”

Crowley’s tongue was exceptional, as Azriaphale knew from experience, but quite possibly the most amazing thing he could do with it was talk. Temptations could be _difficult_ , as Aziraphale had learned the times he’d pinch-hit for Crowley. But, when the Serpent of Eden applied himself, he was stunningly effective. Aziraphale’d been on the receiving end of little hints of it, but it was rare to get the full treatment.

Rare, and so wonderfully wicked, even though there was nothing behind it but love; their sometimes-overwhelming physical need for each other was the result of their physical bodies attempting to process their spiritual connection. Crowley was right - they'd never really found a limit to the that attraction, when they chose to indulge in it. The thought of taking their desire and just running with it . . .

“Oh, yes, oh, please,” Aziraphale told him, letting himself fill with love, and its reflection, lust. He was a clear glass vessel, brimming with light and pleasure, overflowing. He kissed Crowley’s jaw, and then the tender spot in the throat beneath it.

Crowley groaned, “Angel.” So many shades and meanings in one word. He wrapped around Azriaphale, physically and metaphysically, an endless, coiling embrace, positioned his head to capture Aziraphale’s mouth for a kiss and –

\---

Many hours later, all was quiet. Aziraphale and Crowley were wrapped in a tight, Gordian knot of limbs and metaphysics in the center of the bed, long since tapped out for anything more active but still holding each other as if they couldn’t bear to lose a millimeter’s contact.

Aziraphale’s internal clock was nagging him, and reluctantly, he opened one eye. The bedside clock confronted him with implacable numbers.

He kissed the top of Crowley’s head; Crowley’s face was currently jammed into Aziraphale’s chest. “Love, we’re supposed to be checking out in an hour.”

A mumbling growl, which Aziraphale translated as, _Not bloody likely._

Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere either, and his body was voting against the idea as well. “I should call the front desk and extend our reservation.”

Crowley made a noise of protest when Aziraphale worked an arm free, clinging more tightly, but Aziraphale succeeded and felt around on the bedside table for the phone. The first thing he encountered was a piece of card stock, which he brought around to squint at, and he perked up as he read.

“Room service! That would hit the spot. Breakfast for me, and coffee for you.”

“Hnrrrghbh coffee,” Crowley mumbled, his first articulate word in quite a while, which Aziraphale took to indicate agreement.

Some more feeling around, and Aziraphale managed to bring the phone onto the bed and dial the front desk. Reservation and room service taken care of, he returned the phone to its spot, and wrapped his arm back around Crowley, who hummed in approval.

“I suppose, in hindsight, that was never going to work,” Aziraphale mused. “Love is, by nature, boundless, but lust eventually needs to take a breather. ‘My bounty is as endless as the sea / My love as deep; the more I give to thee, / The more I have, for both are infinite.’”

Crowley finally turned his head enough to say, “ _Not_ Shakespeare. And _especially_ not ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ Not here in my bed.”

“It’s the hotel’s bed,” Aziraphale told him, all mild-mannered literalism.

“If I’m in it, it’s my bed,” Crowley corrected. He wriggled a bit, resettling, trying to find any tiny, infinitesimal increase in skin contact, before relaxing with a sigh.

Aziraphale continued, “And I would say it has been a compelling exploration of the virtues of self-restraint.”

“No sermonizing, either. It’s neither the time nor the place, and it’s really, _really_ funny given the kinds of things that were coming out of your mouth just a little while ago.”

Memory supplied Aziraphale with some choice quotes, and a flush crept across his cheeks. “I was, um, inspired.”

Crowley snickered. “I’ll say.”

A rattle outside the door, then a knock.

“Ah, that’ll be the room service.” Azriaphale concentrated, and a facsimile of his usual tartan dressing gown materialized across the foot of the bed. Little as he liked magicked clothing, he could wear it long enough to open the door.

Crowley reflexively tightened his grip, but Aziraphale reminded him, “I have to get out of bed if you’re going to get your coffee,” which persuaded Crowley to finally unwind.

Breakfast was very much an in-bed affair.

Crowley made a face as he resettled, propped against a pillow. “I’m sore in body parts I don’t even _have_ right now,” he complained, cupping his mug in his hands and inhaling the steam.

Aziraphale, in the same boat, sighed, then laughed.

Crowley arched his eyebrows in question.

“Oh, just thinking back – you were right, love, it _has_ been an experience.”


End file.
